Invite people to not know

During the fourth week of class, a student pointed to a map I’d projected on a screen and asked what unnamed country was highlighted in green.

I’d traveled the world over but not to this particular corner of the globe. I was embarrassed I didn’t know and started to pretend that I did.

I glanced back at the map before looking back at the student.

“I don’t know,” I finally admitted.

Any ridicule, whether from my students or within, never came. Instead, my ignorance had been illuminated, and I felt liberated.

More importantly, conceding I didn’t know something gave my students permission to do the same.

Taking ownership of what we don’t know is a sign of courage rather than a flaw in character.

Don’t take anything personally

The greatest gift being an actor has given me is having absolutely no fear of failure.

Trying to make headway in the most competitive and least meritocratic industry on the planet means your survival depends on your ability to not take things personally.

Some weeks, I walked to class with an extra bounce in my step. My bag felt lighter, no longer weighed down by the insecurity of an uninspired lecture.

I’m going to knock their socks off with today’s class, I’d think.

But even on my best days, there’d be a student dozing off, leaving early, or staring blankly into a touchscreen.

What am I doing wrong? I wondered.

Why can’t I reach them?

When one of my students had missed a string of classes I started to believe she no longer found any value from my class.

The one afternoon, she sent me an email informing me a close family member had died.

I realized no matter how much we speculate, we have no clue to what’s really happening behind the scenes in someone’s life.

Trying to make an assumption with no context is not only unproductive but irresponsible.

Be vulnerable

“But for this quiet moment, if only for this moment, and against all reason, let us believe, and believe in our hearts, that somehow it would be so. I’d hear your cry, you mine — And each of us would find a blinded hand.”

— Tennessee Williams

One of the most moving experiences I had in a theater was during my first year at drama school.

During a pivotal scene in the play, the lead character delivers a drunken monologue uncharacteristically revealing all the pain and turmoil of his life that would eventually lead to his downfall.

At the end of the actor’s speech, an elderly woman sitting in front of me whispered, “Beautiful.”

I want to make people feel like that, I thought.

Looking back, what made the performance so compelling was the artist’s willingness to be vulnerable. It was then I realized there’s great courage in vulnerability, not weakness.

Of course, it’s important to maintain boundaries in any professional environment, but sharing our frailties and doubts is an invitation for others to do the same.

By taking solace in our shared humanity, we can step into issues of substance rather than dance around them.

With greater transparency, discussions take on a life of depth and 3-dimensional problem-solving.

Be enthusiastic

Theoretical physicist Michio Kaku argues the root of many children’s dislike of science can be summed up in two words:

Middle school

Too often we fail to invest in an idea, project, or experience because it’s not presented in a compelling way.

We then mistakenly assume it’s the subject not the ambassador that’s the cause of our apathy.

How tragic.

Conversely, when a concept is shared with a sense of enthusiasm and a desire to aid in discovery, it can make all the difference.

Look at how many people tuned in to watch the launch of The Falcon Heavy?

Millions of people, who hadn’t browsed a physics book in years, suddenly longed to reach beyond the stars.

If you’re not excited about what you’re teaching, there’s no chance others will be.

Sharing your passion is not only contagious but the easiest way to lead by example.

Make the content relevant

On the first day of class, I could have easily droned on about notable ancient Greek plays, peppering the lecture with dates and quotes from people who died 2,500 years ago.

The result would have likely been a class longing for relevance from a teacher puffed up with self-importance.

Instead, I talked about how the Greeks believed their words held up the pillars of the universe; that if their prose weren’t expressed with enough vitality and passion those pillars, along with humanity, would perish forever.

Sharing that story invited my students to share their own.

Too often in school, we’re taught to memorize facts and events that have no context to our personal lives.

As a result, we become good company at cocktail parties but lack skills transferable to our everyday lives.

The lessons we tend to remember are the ones reinforced through personal experience, or have principles we can directly connect to our lives.

Ask how people are doing

“People won’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.”

— Theodore Roosevelt

The first piece of advice my advisor gave me was to ask each student how they were doing before class.

“You might be the first person who’s asked all week,” he told me.

I took his advice to heart.

At the start of each lecture, I asked every single student about their wellbeing, making sure I didn’t pry.

And each time I made the inquiry I was met with surprise, then relief.

He was right, many of the students hadn’t been asked in a while.

This one, seemingly innocuous gesture, went further than I could have imagined.

“A lot of the teachers I’ve had could give a crap less about their students but you’ve stuck out for me.”

Taking an interest in the lives of your team establishes meaningful connection, commonalities, and cultivates the trust necessary for building something great.